


Barbershop

by Lovedmoviesb



Series: The Witnesses [3]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, haircut, ichabbie - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:34:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26079583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovedmoviesb/pseuds/Lovedmoviesb
Summary: Abbie decides enough is enough. Ichabod reluctantly goes along.
Relationships: Ichabod Crane & Abbie Mills, Ichabod Crane/Abbie Mills
Series: The Witnesses [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1887487
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	Barbershop

The bell rattled loudly against the stainless steel frame of the door. Crane visibly startled, staring up as though it offended him. 

“Leftenant,” he began beneath his breath, following her on long strides inside the store. “Are you sure this is absolutely necessary?”

“Your hair is almost as long as mine, Crane,” Abbie repeated the argument, her patience wearing thin. “You won’t braid it, you refuse to wear it in a bun, and it keeps getting in your face. So you are getting it cut.”

“Not all the way off,” Crane protested at once. “Surely I am allowed to retain some length.”

“Sure,” Abbie patted his arm, guiding him to a red chair in the center of the shop. “These guys are going to take care of you. Right?” 

She looked expectantly at the barbers. The whole group of them had paused in their work and were now staring at Ichabod like they’d never seen anything quite like him. Abbie couldn’t say she blamed them. She’d coaxed him into leaving his woolen coat in the car, and even pressed a pair of modern slacks on him. With the unassuming blue button down shirt, he looked almost contemporary. Still, there was something in his posture that betrayed him. 

“Hey there Rapunzel,” the nearest barber spoke up. “You trimming those lovely locks?”

Ichabod gaped, but summoned his dignity, scowling only the slightest in Abbie’s direction. 

“My partner insists,” he said morosely. “So here I am.”

“Smart to listen to your lady,” the barber nodded sagely. “We’ll get you cleaned up. You want to take care of that beard too?”

“Yes,” it was Abbie who answered. Ichabod’s beard looked like it’d risen from the dead with the rest of him. A year and a half was enough time to get with this century. 

“I got you, man,” the barber assured Ichabod, clasping a wide hand on his shoulder. He guided him forcefully into the chair. Ichabod’s knees bent reluctantly, as though the motion pained him. “We’re going to get you looking good for your woman.”

Abbie expected Ichabod to protest in some way, or at least to clarify their relationship. Instead, he only flushed beneath his chestnut hair, his eyes flicking to hers in the mirror before settling on his hands. 

“You want a coffee while you wait?” Another worker stepped up, pointing Abbie helpfully to a row of chairs near the window. 

“I’m good,” Abbie nodded, licking her lips. “I’ll be over there,” she told Crane. “Holler if you need me.”

He didn’t holler, but Ichabod was far from silent. Even from across the room, Abbie could hear the low hum of his voice, the familiar British cadence as he took his barber through one thrilling tale or the next. In minutes, he was lost to her, surrounded by workers as they laughed jovially, teasing and asking questions a mile a minute. Satisfied that Ichabod would be fine, Abbie popped her headphones into her ears, pulled up her R&B playlist, and caught up on the news. 

She snapped back to the here and now when one of the barbers started calling her name, gesturing her over to the chair. Abbie picked up her purse and went, sure that she would find a scowling Crane. 

She halted in her steps when she found him smiling at her instead. 

“What do you think?” he asked, somewhat bashful. 

Abbie considered, blinking stupidly at him. Her throat had gone dry at just the sight. Ichabod’s dark hair was neat and tidy, shorn just above his ears. His beard remained though it was smoother now, shining with some product, the shape framing his high cheekbones and elegant chin. He looked years younger and somehow even more handsome, a man of this time and of his time all at once. 

“That’s a good sign, man,” the barber began to laugh, reaching down to shake Ichabod’s hand. “You left her speechless.”

Abbie flushed, willing the blood from her cheeks. “You look good,” she managed to squeak out, hoping she sounded like the detective she was and not some giggling girl with a crush. 

“He looks  _ really _ good,” the barber emphasized. 

Abbie left him with a hefty tip, exiting the shop with Ichabod on her heels and the whole of the building laughing after them. 

“See?” she pressed her partner, unable to take her eyes off him. “That wasn’t so bad.”

He looked down at her, hazarding a smile. “Do you truly like it, leftenant?”

“I do,” she answered, reaching up to tug at a sheared lock of hair. 

He caught her hand, holding it to the side of his face. Her palm skirted over the wiry texture of his beard, shockwaves shooting up her arm. 

“Then I like it as well,” he told her. 

He turned his chin, pressing his lips to her heated skin. Every nerve ending in Abbie’s body fired at once. 

“Maybe you’ll let me take you clothes shopping then,” she teased, her heart hammering. 

Ichabod allowed her hand to fall, but stepped closer to her, the back of his palm brushing against hers. 

“Mayhaps I will,” he acquiesced with a wink. 

Abbie thought privately that seeing Ichabod in clothing she picked might kill her before they even finished their tasks as Witnesses. 

“Up for a trip to the mall?” she asked, eager to spend more time with him. 

“As long as you accompany me,” Ichabod grinned. 

With his spare hand, he fussed with his new look, pausing to glance at himself in a window of Abbie’s car. He grinned crookedly. Abbie rolled her eyes. 

“Don’t let it go to your head, Crane,” she warned, unlocking the door. 

He held it open for her, smiling even harder. 

“I’ll try not to, Abigail,” he promised. 


End file.
